The ticking of a distant clock fills the silence as it stretches. I want to say more. So much more. But it’s not the time. Not yet. When a rap sounds at the back door, I swear we both exhale in relief at the interruption.
Gray strides from the funeral parlor. I hurry after him to see who’s come to call at this hour.
When Gray throws open the back door, McCreadie stands there, and for a moment, time circles back, and I’m opening the door to meet the criminal officer for the first time. I half expect to see Findlay behind him, and when I realize I never will again, a pang darts through me. Grief for the loss of a promising young officer, mingled with anger at what he tried to do to Catriona.
“Duncan,” McCreadie says. He leans around Gray and nods. “Catriona. You had quite the night, didn’t you, lass?”
I murmur something indistinct as I nod.
“I know it is a ridiculous hour,” McCreadie continues. “But I need to speak to you, Duncan. It’s about the case.”
Gray backs up to let him in.
As McCreadie steps inside, he looks at me. “You do not need to tarry with us, lass. You have earned a decent rest.”
“No,” Gray says. “I believe she’ll wish to join this discussion.” He glances at me. “As my assistant in such investigations.”
“Thank you, sir,” I say.
We head back to the funeral parlor sitting room.
“Would you like tea, Detective?” I ask.
“That won’t be necessary,” Gray says before McCreadie can answer. “If it is needed, we’ll get it ourselves. Sit.”
There’s the distinct air of a command to that last word, and I settle into an armchair.
“What seems to be the problem, Hugh?” Gray says as he leans against the wall, arms crossed.
“Besides the fact that my constable murdered two people and tried to kill Isla?” He pauses. “And Catriona, of course.”
Gray uncrosses his arms. “Apologies. I did not intend to be sharp. I am overly tired and out of sorts.”
McCreadie’s gaze slides between me and Gray, as if he’s sensing exactly where that tension comes from. “Understandably so. You have suffered a blow to the head as well, which may explain the rather muddled explanation you gave when you came to my lodgings. I was not quite awake, and I kept telling myself that your story would make more sense once I was. Yet I have taken care of Colin’s remains and examined the scene, and I can only say that your recounting of events makes even less sense now. Which is why I am here.”
I glance at Gray, whose gaze has turned half toward the window.
“Duncan?” McCreadie says. “Do you have something more to tell me? Something that will better explain what happened tonight? Something that will also tell me who actually killed Colin, because I know it wasn’t you. Not unless you stabbed him while on your knees. You must think me a very poor student of your studies if you expected me to believe your story after seeing the wound.”
“I killed Colin,” I say. “I had no idea Dr. Gray intended to take the blame for that.” I pass Gray a hard look, but he’s not glancing my way.
I continue, “I stabbed Colin in the back because he was holding a gun on Dr. Gray.”
“That does not make this story any more comprehensible.”
“It’s true, though.”
“Which, again, does not make it any more comprehensible.” He looks at Gray. “If there is more, I should very much like to hear it.”
McCreadie’s tone is pleasant, his words a mere request. He doesn’t ask whether Gray trusts him. Doesn’t remind him of their friendship. Yet Gray flinches as if McCreadie had threatened to storm out the door and never return.
Gray is not a man who makes friends easily. No, strike that. He is not a man others befriend easily. Earlier tonight, he invited me into his circle and, to him, I rejected that overture by deeming him “unworthy” of my secret. Is he now going to do the same to McCreadie?
I can hope, in this moment, that Gray understands I truly did keep quiet out of fearandto protect him. That if he keeps my secret from McCreadie, it will be for the same reason. Either way, his gaze shoots to me, and I know keeping my secret is not an option. This is his oldest and most trusted friend. If we are all to work together, I cannot ask Gray to lie to McCreadie for me.
“We have something to tell you,” I say.
McCreadie visibly relaxes, as if despite his demeanor, he had feared he might not be worthy of our secret, and seeing that reaction, I understand why Gray felt the same way. We may keep secrets to protect others, but they will only ever feel we didn’t trust them enough to share.